


Aftermath

by Lizardbeth



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Episode: s03e17 Maelstrom, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-09
Updated: 2011-12-09
Packaged: 2017-10-27 03:30:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizardbeth/pseuds/Lizardbeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neither of them understands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

Lee hears the noise from outside the room: _clang, rattle, pause, clang rattle, pause._ It's a rhythmic sound, exactly the same, over and over again - the sound of someone throwing shots on goal into the pyramid backstop inside. Lee spins the wheel and goes inside to find Sam in the orange light. Sam doesn't turn away as he hurls the ball again. "Get out."

"I came -- " Lee starts but has to stop. Why the frak is he here?

"If you're here to say you're sorry, I don't give a frak. And if you're not sorry, I care even less. So get the frak out before I put this ball in your face." His tone is harsh and cold, as the ball rattles its way out again and across the floor, where Sam snags it with his foot and flips it up into his hand with the ease of someone who's done it thousands of times.

Lee knows he should go. He shouldn't be here, intruding where he's not welcome. But he doesn't want to leave, and there are words building up inside his chest, trying to find their way out. "Sam- "

Sam turns. The ball's clutched tightly in both hands as if he's holding himself back from throwing it. "Here to rub it in, Adama?" he hisses.

"No!" Lee exclaims. "Of course not. How could you--"

Sam's jaw clenches, and his eyes narrow and angry. He takes only two steps and he's in Lee's face. "You won, Apollo. Your frakking Viper took her away. Except she kept going, right through your fingers and now she's gone. You have a ship and a wife and a duty and all that other shit - I don't. I had her, and you took her. So get out before I do something I won't regret." He turns in dismissal, rigid with anger, but his eyes are nothing but grief. He throws the ball, and for the first time since Lee started listening, the ball slams into the backstop instead of the goal. It bounces back, but not enough for Sam to catch it without moving. The ball falls to the floor and rolls aimlessly across the floor.

Sam's eyes follow it to the side of the room but abruptly he turns back to Lee. He's almost smiling - it's a dark smirk curling his lips. "What the frak do I care?" he mutters, but it's more to himself. There's a reckless glint in his eyes that seems familiar. He takes another step forward, nearly touching him, forcing Lee to look up. "So tell me, what is it, Apollo? What do you have that she couldn't make a frakking choice between us?"

"I--" Lee's going to try to answer, though he doesn't frakking _know_ , but then it all turns irrelevant when Sam's mouth comes down on his. Lee tries to protest, but his cry comes out as a strangled moan, and he grabs at Sam's shoulders. His skin is so hot, damp with sweat, and his muscles are taut under Lee's fingers as he claws at Sam's clothes. He wants to touch - he wants to feel what Kara felt, and yeah, he wants to know why she chose Sam and not him. And it doesn't matter that it's been years since it was another man under his hands; he touches Sam like he imagines Kara did, because he knows how she touched him.

Numbness of grief burns away in the heated reaches of Sam's mouth, the tongue reaching his as his back slams into the bulkhead. Sam's thigh presses between his legs with maddening pressure, while Lee yanks Sam's shirt off his head.

He freezes, realizing that dogtag is hers, and the tattoo on his arm matches Kara's, and for an instant and eternity of time, he can't breathe. It's as if she's there, but not, and his heart doesn't know what to do with this ghost.

"That all you got, Apollo? Really?" Sam taunts, and it's her words in another voice.

But the hands on Lee's back and on his ass aren't hers, and the body against his isn't hers. It's different enough he can forget. Lee manages to flip them so Sam's against the wall, and Lee opens his pants and his hand is the first to push between Sam's legs. Lee stills again, surprised, because he's forgotten what it feels like to touch someone else's cock - to wrap his hand around the shaft and rub his thumb on the soft skin of the blunt head - and he's forgotten what it sounds like to hear a deep voice catch on a hasty breath.

"Is that enough?" Lee demands, his voice hoarse as he presses against Sam's chest and his face against Sam's shoulder, and he licks the sweat from the side of his neck as Sam tilts his head back, seeking air. He shudders, draws in a harsh breath through his mouth, as Lee's hand pulls at his growing erection. Lee can't look away, from the pale eyes and the large, strong body loose and gleaming with the shining tag on its leather cord dangling on his smooth, naked chest. Lee's free hand slides on him, tangling in the cord, feeling his chest rise and fall with quick breaths.

But before he can jerk him off, Sam shudders again and seems to rouse. His arms are long enough he can pull Lee into him, bodies fitting tight together, and Lee has to let go. And he whispers in Lee's ear, "No. Not enough."

His mouth finds Lee's again, and Lee pushes against him thirstily, wanting more as he curls a hand into Sam's hair. Sam's hands shoves Lee's clothes out of the way, down his hips. He hitches Lee against him, cocks rubbing together with frustrating random brushes, that make Lee whimper with need. Lee stretches, one hand braced against the bulkhead to give him leverage, as they thrust and twist against each other. But it's not enough.

But then Sam gets a hand between them, and one large hand wraps both erections together, and Lee gasps at the feeling, staring into Sam's eyes.

"This - this - " He can't find words, or his voice, as the hand moves, and suddenly it's more than enough - it's too much. "Sam.." His voice is embarrassing; it's too high, too needy, too... undone.

Sam smirks back. "Amateur."

Lee wants to make him take it back, but he can't move while his lungs refuse to inflate. "Oh, gods, gods, what're you -- don't stop, Sam, damn you, don't -- " And he needs only a little more because this is so much; he's never felt this before. It's half-touch and half-sight, because he can't tear his eyes away from what it looks like as Sam squeezes them together. Watching, he bites his lip, as the pressure grows and then, Sam twists his hand just perfectly. Lee makes some embarrassing noise as release hits him, and then again when he feels Sam's too, and then there's nothing but heat pulsing through him.

He slumps against Sam, whose back is against the wall, and they both try to catch their breath. For a moment he stays there, relaxed and sated, feeling Sam's chest rise under his head. Sam doesn't move, but he doesn't push Lee away either - Lee has no idea what he's thinking. And somehow the words come, though he knows the words will ruin it, but he has to speak. "You're wrong, you know ," Lee murmurs. "I didn't win anything. She knew how to get what she wanted from me; in the end, that's all it was. I couldn't say no. I'm sorry."

Sam doesn't respond right away. "It doesn't matter anymore." He pushes free and pulls his pants back up, not looking at Lee. "I knew something was wrong that morning; she'd been having nightmares and I tried to get her to come with me, to take a break." He pauses and his throat works for a moment, before he whispers, "I didn't try hard enough."

He thinks it's his fault, Lee realizes, and he can't let Sam believe that, not when he knows whose fault it truly is. "I made her fly," Lee admits. Guilt feels like a stone resting on his chest. "She didn't want to, but I made her go out there. It's my fault." He feels like he needs Sam to punch him for that. He hurts, but not enough.

Sam says tiredly, as if he doesn't have the energy to be angry, "It's your fault, it's my fault, it's her fault -- it's the toasters' fault for frakking her in the head. It's everybody's fault." He bends to pick up his shirt, but gets distracted by the dogtag on its cord. He clasps it in one hand. "I ... don't feel like it's quite done yet. It's not true."

"I saw it, Sam. She's gone." His voice catches in his throat, remembering that fireball again.

"I know what you saw. I know you believe it. I don't. It wasn't her time, not like that, not that place. There has to be something more," he insists.

As much as Lee would love to believe he's right, he knows Sam is wrong. It's over. Kara's dead. Lee saw it with his own eyes and there's no coming back from that. But he swallows back the need to make Sam let go of his denial. If it's what Sam needs right now, it's not Lee's place to force him to admit otherwise; life will make Sam let it go soon enough.

"So, uh, what do we --" Lee starts in discomfort, as Sam pulls his shirt on and seems not to care that it's going to get stained with their leavings.

"Nothing," Sam declares and he picks up the ball "You miss her, I miss her, that's all it was. So now you go away and this never happened."

Lee wants to object, but he doesn't know what to say. So he says nothing, and Sam turns to face the backstop again. He throws the ball as Lee opens the hatch, and the sound of the ball thumping and rattling into the goal seems to push Lee into the hall.

When he closes the hatch, Lee doesn't know if he should regret having gone in there in the first place, or regret not staying. The corridor is empty and cold, and the warmth he found inside with Sam has faded back to numbness.

He rests his hand on the wheel to open it again, before pulling it back and walking away.


End file.
